I spent the day yesterday in the hospital with my son.

He had had some pain for about 24 hours and it got a lot worse overnight. So in the morning it was off to the ER. Symptoms were of an infected appendix and from the first, the doctor was talking surgery, He just wanted to do his due diligence so first there was an ultrasound, and then a CT scan. And before that, an IV and all sorts of things pumped into his body: medicine for nausea, saline solution, stuff to help the scans “see” better. The people at the hospital, particularly his nurse, “Deej”, were excellent – they kept us well informed as to what was going on, what the options might be, and what the process was.

Still, and most of us have been there, there is a feeling of helplessness when you, or someone you love is in the hospital, when you are in that “waiting for the tests” mode. I’ve experienced it on the other end over the past couple of years, sitting by my parent’s bedside as they slowly slipped away, leaving this life for the next. That terrible helplessness, when you are doing the most important thing you can – being there, and yet it feels like so little.

That was my yesterday too. I did the things I was needed for. I got him to the hospital. Did the paperwork. But he’s well nigh to an adult, and mostly, he answered his own questions, made his own choices. I was simply there, a support when needed. And helpless other than bringing a calm loving spirit.

I think we forget the value of simply being there sometimes. I hear people all the time tell me that at funerals or when people are in the hospital, they feel awkward. They don’t know what to say. And of course, they feel helpless. I shared that feeling for most of my life. It was particularly hard for me when I began pastoring my little church in Vermont. I felt like somehow I had to make a difference. I had to say something. I had to do something.

I learned the truth first at my Grandfather’s funeral, many years ago, and then again at my parent’s funerals over the past couple of years. Honestly, I can’t tell you what anyone said. I don’t remember the words spoken at the funerals. But I recall who was there. Who hugged me. Those simple things made a difference. Yes, there are things we can do – practical things like meals or cutting the grass or whatever. But when we are there, in the midst of it, often the most important thing is simply being there. Sickness and death are big things. The threat of either are big things. We don’t want to be alone with those things. Even us introverts don’t want to be alone with them.

I have been amazed over the past couple of years at how a simple visit, often short, rarely with huge words of wisdom, just a symbol of your caring, makes a difference in people’s lives. A card, simple and short, can make a difference. So we know we are not alone in the sad, scary times. We don’t have to change things (good thing, because mostly we can’t.). We don’t have to have the perfect words. What we need to say, by our actions, is that we love you, and we are there for you. Simple. Truth. Oh so important.

In the morning, we posted a call for prayers. Over 80 of our friends responded. That boosted both our spirits as we waited for test results. Eighty people sending positive thoughts to God, to the universe, to us. Again, it was not a mighty life changing thing. It was being there in the time of helplessness.

His best friend up here in the Northeast, Sue, came too, and I watched him physically respond to her presence. His spirits lifted, and his posture changed. Pain, for a while, was pushed back. Worry, for a while, was released. She didn’t say anything magical. She was simply there.

It turned out James did not need surgery, despite our, and the doctor’s first impressions. He has to rest, take care of himself, and hopefully whatever it was – a virus perhaps, will run its course. Today he’s home, and better.

As we left, we both hugged his nurse, Deej. In once sense, she had just done her job. But she had done it not just technically, but with compassion and focusing on James as a person, understanding almost immediately how to keep him at ease. She had been there, not just physically, but emotionally.

Being there. Don’t dismiss it. It’s the most important thing we can do for each other. Even if it doesn’t feel like it.

Be well. Travel Wisely.

Tom